


Red Skies, Black Waters

by MercuryM



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pirates, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:08:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6230731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryM/pseuds/MercuryM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re not in here.” He smiled toothily and tapped on the leather cover of the captain’s log. “Care to tell me what your name is?”</p>
<p>Her gaze stopped on his pistol and on the metal basket-shaped guard of his cutlass, before moving onto Monroe and giving her the same quick assessment. She drew her legs away from him, and took another sip of water before letting her hands rest in her lap, grimacing as the shackles rubbed against the raw skin of her wrists.</p>
<p>“Pirates.” Her voice was low and hoarse, husky from dehydration. “Of course it would be pirates.”</p>
<p>His smile took on a sharp edge. “What were you expecting, princess? A rescue mission?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kay_emm_gee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/gifts).



> A while ago, Kayla wrote a [Bellarke Black Sails AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6038038/chapters/13845076), one which I really adore and enjoy, and around discussing our mutual love for Charles Vane and Eleanor Guthrie, as well as Bellamy and Clarke, she insisted on seeing my take on a pirate AU set in the Black Sails world.
> 
> This is something that I've been thinking about ever since the second season of Black Sails, but I never got around to writing it, simply because I was never truly inspired. But for the past couple of months, I've been struggling with everything canon-related to the 100, and as such, I can't get around to writing canon Bellamy/Clarke fics (cue all the modern AUs I've been posting lately, and why Crown is yet to be updated), and I thought that this will be a nice way to overcome writer blocks. That said, I don't think I'll have a regular updating schedule for this fic, if one at all, but it will definitely be something that I'll be working on when I get frustrated with my other fics. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy reading this!

The deck of _The Arion_ swayed with the waves and the thick ropes of the grappling hooks connecting it to _Good Fortune_ creaked ominously. The English merchant ship was devoid of life and Bellamy’s boots sounded all too loud when he boarded the otherwise empty foredeck.

“Captain?”

Bellamy turned around and his quartermaster, Miller, who had followed behind, pointed at the red hand-print along the railing of _Good Fortune_. It trailed off and disappeared overboard, as if the person had been swept away by the waves. Or something else.

“A sedition perhaps?”

Bellamy unsheathed his cutlass and cocked his flintlock pistol ready. His uncanny sense to foresee trouble had been tingling ever since they had caught sight of the big, seemingly deserted ship, and despite his hesitation on the matter, he had ordered boarding. If it was a trap, as he suspected, Bellamy was confident that _The Arion_ could easily outrun the merchant ship. But, if his sister’s information proved to be right, it was an opportunity they couldn’t really miss; as such, it was more than worth the risk.

Yet, for all its silence, _Good Fortune_ could have passed for a ghost ship.

“Search below deck.” Bellamy’s voice raised over the wind and his fellow pirates boarded one by one, pistols ready and daggers and swords filling the deck with swooshing sounds. “Monroe, find me the captain’s log. The rest of you know the drill. I want all of the cargo up here.”

Monroe gave him a quick nod and Bellamy watched as his crew upturned every barrel, every hatch, in search of _Good Fortune_ ’s crew and cargo. His sister had insisted that this was supposed to be a gold mine for medical remedies, something that Nassau was desperately lacking.

“Captain!” Miller’s head popped up from the hatch leading to the ship’s hold and gestured towards the opening. “We found the crew.”

Bellamy made his way towards the quartermaster and jumped down the stairs, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness and narrowing as he observed the scene in front of him.

The hold was filled with shivering men and the off-putting smell of vomit, sweat and piss.

“It looks like yellow fever.” Miller kicked one of the laying men; he wasn’t breathing.

“But to get all of them?”

Bellamy put away his cutlass and pistol, and turned to Sterling and Atom who were waiting behind him.

“Grab what you can, as fast as you can. I want us as far away from this ship as possible.” Then he turned back to the quartermaster. “We need those medical supplies. _Find them_.”

Miller disappeared in the darkness and Bellamy climbed back up the stairs, breathing in the salty air that chased away the sickness from his clothes. Just as he was about to go look for Monroe, she appeared by his side and handed him the captain’s log. He cursed when he opened to the last page and saw the low quantities of medical supplies the ship was transporting. It also had four barrels of sugar, twelve casks of brandy and tobacco, which, if nothing else, would sell well.

“And Captain, there’s something you might want to see.”

Intrigued, he followed her back to the captain’s cabin. Upon opening the doors, he was hit with stagnant air and the smell of perspiration. But what really caught his attention was the messy blond hair hidden behind the captain’s desk.

The woman was sitting with her back to the window, dress wrinkled and sodden with sweat. Her skin was pale and her face spoke of hunger, but her eyes — blue like the ocean before a storm — were lucid and watching his every step. Her lips were cracked and Bellamy found himself reaching for his flask, offering her water.

He expected her to lung for it but instead she cocked her head to the side and kept on watching him. It was then that he noticed the chains binding her hands together and tying her to one of the wooden beams. Her presence on the ship had been unexpected, but seeing her bound and held against her will rankled something inside of him.

“Drink.” He thrust the flask in her hands and this time she obeyed, the chains rattling as she tipped the flask and took a few small sips.

He observed her as she swallowed, noticing the dried blood around the shackles on her wrists and the broken dagger that was embedded in the beam next to the link connecting her chain. Her dress, despite its state, spoke of wealth, as did the golden thin necklace around her neck. The stubborn tilt of her chin and the way she held herself despite her situation — proud and unflinching — cemented his observation.

She was an aristocrat, there was no mistake about it. And a stupid one on top of that; after all, there was a reason why pirates were the stuff from nightmares, and yet, here she was, trying to stare him down into submission. How he hated the likes of her.

“You’re not in here.” He smiled toothily and tapped on the leather cover of the captain’s log. “Care to tell me what your name is?”

Her gaze stopped on his pistol and on the metal basket-shaped guard of his cutlass, before moving onto Monroe and giving her the same quick assessment. She drew her legs away from him, and took another sip of water before letting her hands rest in her lap, grimacing as the shackles rubbed against the raw skin of her wrists.

“Pirates.” Her voice was low and hoarse, husky from dehydration. “Of course it would be pirates.”

His smile took on a sharp edge. “What were you expecting, princess? A rescue mission?”

The nickname didn’t faze her as much as he hoped it would, and she hummed in response.

“You’re hoping for a ransom.”

Bellamy crouched down to her level and let the log fall between them, dropping all pretense. “Surely your pretty face is worth something to somebody back home.”

Her laugh was sardonic and quickly transformed into a coughing fit that she subdued with some water. Her dry lips had cracked some more and she licked the drops of blood before they could make their way down her chin.

“My father is dead. Unfortunate, as he would have gladly paid any ransom you could have asked of him. My mother, on the other hand, would never parley with a pirate, even for her only child. So you see, you either leave me with them, or you kill me now, as I’m of no use to you.”

She was taunting him to do just as she had suggested, but the fire in her eyes was something he was used to seeing in his sister’s — a burning flame that could only ever grow and never diminish, a challenge to cross her and taste her blade.

Bellamy, however, didn’t plan on getting burned today.

“Mm, I have a feeling we’ll be able to persuade your mother on the matter.”

Her fingers clenched around the flask and her gaze narrowed. It seemed that he was finally getting some reaction other than disdain.

“The moment my mother learns of my capture, she would gladly watch you burn.” Her words were vicious and for a moment he was taken aback by the ferocity behind them. “Then again, she doesn’t have to wait too long for that to happen.”

Monroe shifted nervously behind him and Bellamy felt trepidation sinking in his stomach.

“What do you mean by that?” he demanded and barely resisted the urge to impale her on his cutlass when she had the guts to laugh at him.

“Oh, you poor soul, you still don’t know,” she mocked and leaned forward, blond dirty tresses framing her face. “Earl Jake Griffin was murdered for treason. His work on pardoning pirates on behalf of the Crown was seen as conspiracy to turn New Providence and Nassau into his own little domain, apart from England.”

Bellamy froze, as did Monroe. The Earl had been well known for his efforts to pardon the pirates and incorporate them into the British Royal Navy, and make New Providence and Nassau self-governed English colonies. His death came as a shock to him, and it didn’t speak well for him or his fellow pirates.

The woman continued, unfazed by his stony silence. “The Royal Navy has a new decree now. Every captured pirate is to be hanged without a trial. And your precious Bahamas got a new Royal Governor.” She took a breather and grinned wickedly, as if taking pleasure from all of this. “ _Marcus Kane_.”

Bellamy got to his feet in an instant and pushed the door open, letting it bang against the stairs leading to the quarterdeck with no remorse. Monroe followed him out and few of his crew members looked up at the sound but he waved them away.

He had met Marcus Kane twice in his life, both times back when he was still living in England, and he wasn’t eager to revisit those memories or the repercussions that came with them. Marcus Kane was bad news, he was bad news for him, for his sister, for Nassau, for every pirate sailing these seas. If he was coming for them, it would be with guns blazing and aiming to conquer, and no amount of negotiations would help them.

“Miller!” The quartermaster gave his cargo over to Connor and turned to face him. “Gather the crew, we’re leaving, _now_!”

Miller didn’t seem happy about it. “We still haven’t found the medical remedies.”

“Doesn’t matter. Tell Monty to set course for Nassau.”

For a moment, Miller looked like he would oppose his decision, but then repeated Bellamy’s orders and the crew was swiftly transporting the acquired cargo atop _The Arion_ ’s deck.

“And the girl?” Monroe asked.

He looked back at the cabin and the echo of chains rang in his ears.

“We’re taking her with us. She might be lying about the ransom, and if not, if what she said about the Earl is true, then we’ll need all the information she has.”

 _Good Fortune_ rocked gently under his feet and Bellamy itched to set the ship and all its occupants, annoying blondes included, on fire. News of Marcus Kane was anything _but_ good fortune.

“Go back on _The Arion_ and help Raven with the cargo.” With that, Bellamy left Monroe and went to fetch the girl.

She hadn’t moved from her place, save for having stretched her legs again, and he hated how she didn’t seem to fear him even as he unsheathed his cutlass. He was, however, smug to be met with her surprised gaze when instead of plunging the steel into her body, he brought the hilt of the cutlass down on the link in the beam, pulling it out after few hard hits.

“Sorry to ruin your fairy tale, princess,” he coiled the chain around his hand and pulled her up, grabbing her upper arm to steady her when she wavered, “but you’ve yet to see the last of me.”

“Aren’t I lucky?” The bite of her voice was betrayed by her shaking legs.

“You are.” His smile was nothing short of hostile. “Nobody boards _The Arion_ alive unless they’re a crew member.”

And with that, he walked her to the railing of the main deck, where he passed her off safely to Monroe aboard his ship. He was one of the very few pirates that were yet to go back to _The Arion_ , and he took great pleasure in unhooking the grappling hooks and leaving the miserable form of the merchant ship behind.

The deck of _The Arion_ was bursting with life, and the wind was strong, as if sensing the captain’s urgency and trying its best to get them to Nassau as fast as possible.

Bellamy caught sight of the aristocrat and watched her as she closed her eyes, letting the wind play with her hair. Something squeezed his heart and suddenly he wished he had left her behind. Somehow he knew that if it wasn’t for Marcus Kane, this woman would be responsible for his downfall.

She opened her eyes, met his gaze and held it, until Monroe rushed her below deck.

She was going to be a challenge to break, and Bellamy would enjoy doing so.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I've forgotten about this fic, did you?  
>   
> I recommend you re-read the prologue before going forward with this chapter. It's been a long time since I've posted the prologue and a quick refresher will definitely help you get back into the story. I've written a bit more of this story but I'll hold on to that until I can put more words on paper and have some semblance of plot going on because I'd hate to have to go back and re-write part of the story that I've already published. Thank you for your great feedback on this, I often re-read your comments when I need motivation to write in this verse!  
>   
> Forever grateful to my beta for her constant support and encouragement, I don't know what I'd do without her. Believe me, she's my biggest cheerleader when it comes to this project so one day you'll definitely see it complete!

Clarke tipped her head back and let the sun caress her face and warm her chilly sides. The salty air filling her lungs felt like freedom after days of being chained alone in _Good Fortune_ 's captain's cabin, smelling nothing but her own waste and sweat, and she took breath after breath with relish.

The captain of _The Arion_ — for that was the name of the pirate ship that had taken her hostage — had finally relented and let her have few minutes above deck.

Clarke had refused to thank him for it; the bastard didn't deserve her gratitude for allowing her some semblance of courtesy. However, she did appreciate it, no matter how much she hated herself for it. She hadn't expected it from him, after all, pirates were not known for their kindness, but this one at least had some common sense in that pea sized brain of his.

She hadn't counted on any of this, yet here she was, standing among pirates, shackled for a second time, and wishing that just for once her life went according to plan.

But her father was still dead, her lover had still betrayed her, and she had most definitely ran away from her impending wedding, leaving both her fiance and her mother to repent for their actions. Her one regret was that Wells, her best friend, had to stay behind. It had been the only way to keep him out of this mess. Then again, if he had been with her in the first place maybe she wouldn't have been recognized and caught aboard the merchant ship, let alone be residing on a pirate ship.

But God worked in mysterious ways, as her father loved to say.

Clarke wasn’t quite sold on that — there was nothing mysterious in her father’s death, just pain and absence, and too many regrets to count.

The ship swayed and Clarke gripped the handrail tighter, loving the feel of the worn wood beneath her fingers. She had sailed twice before this fiasco, her father could never say no to her pleas, and he himself encouraged her adventures and curious nature, much to her mother’s displeasure.

She could imagine her mother’s face if she saw her right now and the company she was keeping, albeit unwillingly. Abigail Griffin was a Countess through and through — she was born an aristocrat and married an aristocrat and nothing could make her believe that the common folk was deserving of her attention, let alone the resources she sometimes bestowed upon them. Her donations were a mere show to impress Commodore Marcus Kane and win the approval of the other Royal Navy Admirals; the scorn of their wives was nothing but another notch on her already long list of accomplishments. Her husband, and Clarke’s father, Jacob ‘Jake’ Griffin had been a Navy Captain himself and an honorary member of the Royal Navy board, active both in the army and in the political scene, revered and ridiculed alike for his visionary ideas.

But when it came to the crunch, his impeccable name and good position couldn’t help him keep his life.  

He died for an idea he never saw become a reality, betrayed by a woman he called his wife; he died still believing and Clarke resented him for that — her faith and hope had died with him, and she was left stranded in a household that was her own personal hell. Running away had been easy when there had been nothing to keep her there.

Clarke sighed and pulled her hair free from her messy braid. She would have liked to have something to comb it with, but alas, pirates cared little about combs or brushes. Or maybe they did but were afraid that she would attempt to kill one of them with the pointy end.

(It certainly wouldn’t have hurt to _try_.)

But until she acquired a real comb, her fingers would have to do. Thankfully, after dealing with few stubborn knots, the rest of her hair was in an agreeable mood and she braided it again with little to no effort. She still itched for a shower, sick down to her bones from the way she smelled, but fresh water was another thing pirates didn’t have in bulk. And for all that they were surrounded by the sea, Clarke had no wish to take a plunge into the dark blue salty depths, and only partially because she was afraid of drowning. The other reason was because she wasn’t sure she would _actually_ fight the pull of the water and that was a scary thing to admit to oneself.

The crashing waves against the hull of their ship and the shouted orders all around her were just another part of the scenery that she had gotten used to, but one particular set of boots brought her out of her pensive mood.

Purposeful and steady, the captain of _The Arion_ halted next to her, leaning on his forearms against the railing without sparing her a single glance.

Clarke let him have his moment. If he thought he could make her address him first, he was sorely mistaken; she had learned to keep her mouth shut the hard way, and she had time to waste in spades.

“Enjoying your stay?” he said at last, his head turning to the side. He was trying to keep a blank expression, Clarke could tell, but it wasn’t quite working for him.

“I’ve had better,” she answered if only to see him clench his jaw in annoyance.

Clarke might have been the one in shackles — admittedly, the ankle ones they had imposed on her were much better than the wrist ones she had been wearing before — but she had no intention of bowing down to the whims of a man who had chosen to steal and kill to feed his greedy heart. If she was going to meet her end by the blade of his cutlass, then she was going to do it like her father — believing that hers had been the right way.

(Maybe it hadn’t been the right way and that was a thought she refused to even entertain; too much heartbreak and destruction laid in that path.)

The captain turned to face her fully, the handle of his flintlock pistol glinting under the morning sun. Another little reminder that she was outnumbered, weaponless and helpless save for her wit. Maybe she should have tired to be polite and agreeable, maybe she could have acted a bit scared, playing a damsel in distress the whole nine yards, but that had been doomed the first time she had laid her eyes on him.

Clarke never did deal well with arrogance, and the captain lacked none.

She was aware that she was at his mercy and nothing would stop him from letting his men have their way with her, so she took a steadying breath and smiled. It came out as a pained grimace but at least she tried.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine morning?”

The pleasantries her mother had insisted on drilling into her head seemed to finally pay off — he closed his eyes as if already tired of their whole conversation, no matter the fact that they had only exchanged a few words.

Who knew that a pirate could be bested by few empty words?

“I want your name, for starters.”

And ah, there it was, the commanding tang to his voice. Clarke could understand why so many men and women had joined his crew — he emitted confidence and strength, and his voice broke no arguments. She was sure he had managed to inspire quite few of his crewmembers. To what lengths their loyalty stretched was something to ponder upon.

“Clarke.” Her smile was cordial and a much better attempt to look as nonthreatening as possible. Not that she had any illusions of being a proper threat to him.

But scheming did take quite a while to bear proper fruits and she had no intention of tipping him off in advance. In the position she was, scheming was all she had left and she planned on making the most of it.

“Clarke…” he trailed off, obviously fishing for her last name, but she just kept on looking at him.

Her last name was, for better or worse, rather well known and she would hate to give him something he could exploit.

“Yours?” She didn’t expect him to have kept his real name, but he answered with “Blake.” and something niggled at her from the back of her mind.

Why did that surname feel familiar to her? That begged further investigation but for now she pushed it back.

“Well, Captain Blake, you’ve got a fancy ship for a lousy pirate. Who did you steal it from? The Spanish?”

Blake bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “The French actually. They were quite the agreeable sort, gave it up without much of a fight, really.”

“What a shame. I’m sure you had been looking forward to an honest fight to make a real man out of you.”

His bronzed skin darkened with his angry flush and Clarke tasted victory at the back of her throat. It had been a while since she had a worthy opponent for her tongue.

He regrouped rather fast, “Ah, I’m sorry to say that if a real man hasn’t been able to make a woman out of you yet, then you’re out of luck; even I can’t help you, though I’m sure it won’t be too much of a chore to give it a try.”

His insult stung and Clarke felt her own skin redden with her ire.

“Can’t properly satisfy a lady then? That’s a shame, but what else is to be expected from the likes of you.”

“The likes of me?”

Clarke waved her hand to encompass the whole ship. “Volatile, brash, thinking yourselves to be kings above the law. Dirty and lacking manners, polluting the rest of the world with your greed and disregard for what is right and what is wrong.”

“Are you seriously trying to read me a lecture about morals while you’re on a pirate ship?“

His question felt like cold water splashed across her face and she froze, just now paying attention to how worked up she was, and how her going toe to toe against the _captain_ of the ship was far from being the ideal option.

“I’m sorry, I thought everybody was free to express themselves on this ship. You pirates stand for everything that England does not, don’t you?”

“Who we are and who we’re supposed to be are two very different things, Clarke.”

His overly familiar address had her gritting her teeth, his words nothing but an empty excuse to her ears.

“Indeed?” She looked back to the sea, the sight of his narrowed brown eyes unsettling her and making her feel aware of all her flaws.

Of all the pirates she could end up with, she just had to go and pick an honest to God intellectual. Clarke wouldn’t have been surprised if the captain ended up being some lowborn English aristocrat, maybe even Spanish if she had to take his darker complexion under consideration, though, now that she was really looking at him, there was something distinctively Asian about his features.

It didn’t matter in the end — he was a pirate captain and she was his most valuable card, not that he was aware of it. _Yet_.

Clarke hadn’t lied when she’d said her mother would refuse to parley with him or any other pirate for her freedom; instead, she would let Marcus Kane run loose off his chain and watch him bring death upon pirates and Royal Navy men alike, smiling sadly as if that had not been her intention all along. Above anything else, Abigail Griffin cherished the law, and in her humble opinion those outside of it had brought it on themselves.

If Blake was smart, he would kill her right now and never let her mother know that it was his doing.

The captain, however, was trying to prove wrong every pirate tale she had heard.

“I was made aware that you’re enjoying our hospitality to the fullest,” _what_ hospitality Clarke wanted to ask, “but I’m sure you’re aware that the food and water we give you is cutting back on our rations, and some of my crew members are not happy with it. They do all the work around here, and yet you seem to get the better deal out of it somehow.”

If he was implying that they were going to stop giving her food then she would accept it as cordially as she could. Clarke had gotten to know hunger quite well the past few weeks while sick abroad _Good Fortune_. That did nothing to scare her but the resentment the crew seemed to be already harboring towards her was disconcerting to put it lightly. The pirates might be loyal to their captain but she still couldn’t tell if they would go behind his back and take what they thought they were owed or not.

He continued, ignorant of her inner turmoil. “They wouldn’t mind getting something in return. Say, you wouldn’t have something of great value on you, would you?”

Clarke barely stopped herself in time from reaching for her throat where her necklace laid nestled under the high cut of her dress, carefully hidden under the folds as to not be visible at all.

The _too_ casual way he mentioned valuables had her become suspicious at once. If she had any valuables, they would have been part of the cargo that his crew pilfered from _Good Fortune_ , something that he was no doubt conscious of. Somehow, he knew about the delicate golden chain hanging from her neck, that was the only explanation for his seemingly random question.

It had been her father’s and she had no intention of surrendering it so easily, if at all.

“I don’t make a habit of having any valuables hidden on my persona in case I required them for an exchange.” Her cheeks hurt from smiling so politely but his calculating gaze had her insides twisting and turning, bubbling with apprehension that for all she knew was actual acid.

“Oh?” Blake said slowly, as if truly distraught by her answer, but they both saw it for the farce it was. “You wouldn’t happen to have some earrings on you, or maybe a _necklace_?”

The fucking soulless bastard.

“No,” Clarke lied in return, her jaw hurting from gritting her teeth so much.

His fingers tappen on the banister thoughtfully, his other hand reaching for the small dagger tucked into the front of his belt. “You see, Miss Clarke, here on _The Arion_ we don’t like liars. It’s a bad habit to have.”

Despite the obvious threat she held still, refusing to let go of her father’s only memento willingly. But when he raised his hand, set on putting an end to this parade, she trembled and her fingers clenched the dirty skirt of her dress so tightly her knuckles went white from the pressure.

“Please, don’t.”

Barely a whisper, her plea was swept by the ploughing ship but the small upturn of his lips let her know that he had heard her perfectly clear. She was a fool —  she had showed him just how much she was dependant on her only treasure and there was no greater incentive for him to take it now.

“ _Please_ ,” she begged again, biting her tongue until she tasted blood as his calloused fingers slipped under the collar of her dress in search for the necklace.

Clarke _saw_ the moment his fingers caught on her chain, the perverse pleasure he got from depriving her from her only important thing in life lit his eyes from the inside, and she felt like she was staring right into the fires of Hell and couldn’t do a thing.

He pulled, albeit keeping his touch gentler than she thought him capable at this moment, and the chain went according to his wishes easily enough, lifting with it the small pocket watch attached to the end. His surprise was evident across his face — he knew about the necklace but not of the watch hanging from it.

Bile piled at the back of her throat and Clarke could only watch helplessly as Blake tugged the chain over her head, his fingers curling against the watch like they were old friends.

“Well, would you look at this. You did have something of great value under that dress after all.”

Clarke was deaf for the veiled taunt, uncaring about her pride, uncaring about anything really, aside from her father’s watch that shone brightly under the sunrays.

“Give it back.”

The captain didn’t even deem it necessary to look at her, so entranced he was by his newly seized treasure.

“I don’t think so, princess. You refuse to tell me your full name so I’m deprived from collecting a hefty price for your safe return, and you haven’t said a word about Marcus Kane either, despite the fact that my quartermaster has visited you several times already. If you don’t cooperate, then you’re of no use to me. This little thing,” he turned the golden watch in her direction, blinding her when the sun reflected off the shiny surface of the dial, “is the only reason why you’ve yet to be tossed overboard.”

Clarke’s head felt light and the next sway of the ship had her hanging onto the handrail for dear life. God, this was not possible. That watch was her life, she couldn’t lose it, not right now, not _ever_.

“Unless, of course, you have something else you’d like to trade for it?”

He tried to sound interested in her answer but his attention was solely focused on the watch and Clarke couldn’t blame him for that — the watch was made masterfully, an exquisite work of cogs and glass and gold, with a small black pearl at the center.

“I’d like to have it back now,” she insisted.

Blake’s laugh was deep and throaty, sounding harsh and unkind to her ears.

“That’s not how this works and we both know it.”

The flimsy corset of her dress felt too constricting and Clarke stepped away from him and his cruel intentions, just short of fainting right there, in front of everybody.

“Then get out of my sight,” she was proud of the venom in her voice,  “unless you want me to cut that lying tongue right out of your mouth.”

He lifted an eyebrow, impressed by her spiel, before tipping her with his hat and making a show of turning around and leaving her behind on the deck.

Clarke’s breath rattled inside her lungs, every mouthful of air just another dagger in her heart, every step of his away from her adding another nail to her coffin.

_Oh Wells, what have I done?_

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy closed the door of his cabin behind him, pulling the latch after some thought. The golden watch sat at the palm of his hand, warmed by the sun and ticking softly, cogs turning in perfect synchrony.

Of all the things that could have been hanging from her chain, this one he had not foreseen at all. He turned the watch around, careful not to damage the delicate necklace, and brushed his thumb over the back cover.

_J. A. G._

Was that her lover back home or somebody else?

It was plain as day that this watch meant a lot to his reluctant guest and not because of the metal it was made of. Bellamy traced the letters again as he sat in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him, a complaint that went unheeded.

She had refused to talk about England or the new Royal Governor — quite brave of her when one knew of her situation. (Or maybe foolish; the two were, after all, quite often mistaken for one another.) Then again, Bellamy had not wanted to push at all. Just thinking about Kane was enough to have the blood from his face drain, his hands shaking as he was thrown back in the memories of their second and last meeting.  But they were going to reach Nassau at dawn and then he wouldn’t have a choice.

It would be them or her, and Bellamy knew what he was capable of doing to do to protect his sister and his people, the place they had carved lives out of.

Bellamy had tried to outrun his demons by leaving England behind.

But now it seemed that those same demons were on a hunt for his blood.

And that was something that he couldn’t allow.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke closed her eyes, unwilling to watch the captain walk away from her, to walk away with _her_ watch.

She waited until her stomach stopped rebelling, until she no longer felt like puking, until her angry tears were pushed back. Then she waited few more minutes, making sure that she could square her shoulders back and lift her chin, pushing back the grief and humiliation that had become her world with few short sentences.

The pirates around her threw her not so subtle glances, probably thinking her pathetic for the weakness she had displayed mere minutes before. But Clarke had not survived her mother’s atrocious tea parties back in England by letting an unfortunate situation like this one be a major setback.

With the lack of her watch her plans would have to be altered, yes, but they were far from being an impossibility.

Calm once again, Clarke tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and fixed the collar of her dress, smoothing down the wrinkled skirt and casually brushing her fingers over the hidden vials, scissors and needles beneath the fabric.

For a second there Clarke had been afraid that he knew about the medical supplies too, but he had been bluffing, asking just to stress on the fact that she had nothing else to offer in return for her father’s watch.

But that was fine with her, she would bide her time and then she would take her watch back, even if it meant that she had to put a bullet between his eyes.

Nodding to herself, Clarke pushed back from the handrail and made her way below deck, the chains binding her legs jiggling loudly behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reviews and kudos are greatly appreciated,  
> **  
>  \- M.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and support, it means a great deal to me <3 Have a 5k update as my appreciation for your interest in this story! I hope you enjoy it because I'm just getting started with this.

They docked easily enough, Raven more than familiar with these waters and the dangers they held for everyone that wanted to reach Nassau. She and Monty were an amazing duo — a boatswain and a sailingmaster that shared one mind — and _The Arion_ took its place next to _Scorned,_ their pirate flag winking joyfully at the bystanders.

Bellamy felt the tension that had sat in his shoulder for days now finally drain, leaving him haggard and beyond tired. The ship usually did a great job of lulling him to sleep but this time he had spent his nights restless, turning and tossing around, his few dreams turned nightmares with the appearance of Kane in them.

He took the first boat to the small harbor, leaving Miller to take care of their cargo, one blond vexing prisoner included.

Her watch sat inside the small pouch hanging from his neck and hidden under his shirt. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t included it in their cargo — it was going to fetch them a hefty prize and his crew would be more than happy — but the way she had looked at him, first with desperation and then with anger had him doubting what was best.

God, he needed to get away from that woman. She was nothing but one headache after another.

He was a _captain_ for God’s sake, of _The Arion_ no less, a pirate ship that he was proud to know was feared by the French and Spanish alike, a constant thorn in England’s side, capturing treasures that other crews could only dream of.

Yet, one word from her pink lips and he was torn apart by doubts and past regrets. He hadn’t forged a name for himself for doing what it took just to have her stir unwanted feelings in his heart, making him falter when it really mattered.

Bellamy scoffed and glared at _The Arion_ over his shoulder where he saw her blond head traveling this way in the next boat. He had left her in Raven’s care; his boatswain wouldn’t stand for Clarke’s snub-nosed attitude and he needed somebody trustworthy who would make sure their prisoner didn’t end up with her throat slit before the night was over.

Shaking his head, Bellamy pushed the matter of the watch and its owner back into his mind, and let his legs take him to Jasper’s tavern; he could use a drink.

Or maybe two.

On the way there, Roma smiled at him from the front of Niylah’s house and he mentally added a note to save some coin for her bed afterwards. The release she would grant him would be more than a welcomed distraction from his clusterfuck of a life.

As expected, his sister was at Jasper’s, nursing a glass of wine like it was water. Gina, their harbormaster, was sharing her table, as was Lincoln, his sister’s current beau and the only decent local carpenter. Bellamy frowned at Octavia’s closeness to her lover — she was perched upon his lap, but he wasn’t in the mood for an argument, so he pulled a chair from the closest table and drank straight from her glass.

“Bell!” Octavia’s yell nearly burst his eardrum, and for once he was grateful to Lincoln that he managed to hold his sister back until he had gulped down all the wine.

“You three usually only sit together when you’re planning something,” he said as a greeting and filled Octavia’s — now his — glass to the brim with more wine before swallowing that down as well.

Gina pulled the half-empty wine jug towards her when he went for it for a second time and met his scowl with a smile.

“I take it you didn’t have much luck with your latest run?”

Octavia leaned forward eagerly, her posture turning all businesslike despite the fact that she was using Lincoln as a chair.

“Something like that.” Bellamy swirled the last few drops of wine inside his glass and then tipped the glass over, watching it roll towards the center of the table dispassionately. “ _Good Fortune_ was a bust.”

Octavia exhaled loudly and Gina pressed her lips together, a little furrow appearing between her brows. Lincoln’s people, a substantial part of Nassau’s permanent residents, had been counting on those medical supplies, and all Miller and the rest had found was barely enough to clean and bandage a knife wound.

“We got some tobacco and brandy, some sugar too; selling them will be easy, the barrels are clean and I’m sure your contacts will get us a good price for them.” He nodded to Gina who hummed in agreement. “But there were none of those medical supplies you assured me of, O.”

“That’s impossible, my resources-”

“Your resources were wrong.”

She glared at him but didn’t deny it; after all, he was the living proof that things hadn’t gone the way she had foretold.

He winced when she pulled back from him and he let his hands rest on the surface of the table, tracing an old jagged line in the wood over and over again without even realizing it. “The ship’s crew was sick, Miller suspected yellow fever so we didn’t stick around for long. They might have used up all the supplies or we might have not looked for them hard enough. Either way, we haven’t brought anything of use.”

“We can always buy them,” Gina suggested with a soft voice.

“We no longer have time for that.” O cursed and Lincoln rubbed his palm over the knobs of her spine, trying to calm her down. His sister always had a short fuse on her temper. “Bell was supposed to steal those supplies because our treasury is running low and we couldn’t justify spending so much funds when not all the captains were in agreement.”

“The price of the sugar went up two weeks ago; just selling that will allow us to buy enough opiates and hiera picra to last us for a long while.”

“Yes? And how long will that takes us? Another nine or ten days? Indra doesn’t have that long!” By the end Octavia was screaming and the other patrons were giving them curious looks.

“Calm yourself, O,” Bellamy hissed and met her venomous look with a glare of his own. “Yes, the circumstances are far from ideal but we’ll make do, like we always do.”

She wasn’t placated but she nodded.

“Besides,” Bellamy continued once she had settled down, “that might end up being the least of our worries.”

Gina took a sip of her own glass. “Do tell.”

“There was a prisoner aboard _Good Fortune_. An aristocrat by the looks of it. She was sick like the rest of the crewmembers, but she had some interesting information to share.” He stopped drumming his fingers against the tabletop when Gina’s hand covered his; he thought he had gotten rid of that nervous tick years ago. “Apparently, Earl Griffin is dead and the Bahamas have a new Acting Royal Governor. Marcus Kane.”

Octavia gasped and Gina pulled back as if he had slapped her. Lincoln was the only one completely unfazed by the revelation.

But the ship maker caught on the tension running through the group and leaned forward, his arms tightening around Octavia’s waist. “Who is Marcus Kane?”

“He’s--”

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy smoothed his hands down his uniform coat, making sure that there were no wrinkles in sight, his cutlass dangling from his belt and brushing his breeches with every step he took.

He wasn’t nervous; or, at least, he tried to convince himself of that.

This was going to be his first official sailing as a Navy man and as his luck had it, it had to be under the notorious Marcus Kane, one of the best Captains the British Navy had. If rumours had it right, he was also soon to be granted the rank of Commodore.

His mother had laughed herself silly when he had received his assignment letter, assuring him that Captain Kane wasn’t as scary as the tales had made him, but Bellamy wasn’t so easily convinced. Besides, a healthy dose of fear and respect would help him keep his tongue in check.

The man-o'-war was still docked, waiting for its captain, and Bellamy had few more moments to get acquainted with the ship. He had trained on smaller square-riggers before, but the man-o’-war was by far the biggest ship he had the pleasure of seeing. Thirty guns on the upper deck alone, with an additional two rows on the middle and lower deck respectively, the three masts making it possible for _Reverence_ to compete against the smaller and lighter ships despite its heavier build.

The ship was a piece of art and Bellamy nearly had a meltdown when he was allowed to board it. And now, he would get to serve on it, under a captain that represented the best traits nurtured by the Royal Navy.

This was what dreams were made of.

The sharp cry of “Captain on deck!” had him straightening his back, hands by his sides, chin up and looking forward. With his peripheral vision he saw Marcus Kane climbing aboard the _Reverence_.

This was Bellamy’s first time seeing the man — just shy of forty years of age, tall and broad-shouldered, Kane was clean shaved, his face blank and stern-looking, his uniform pressed and his boots shining. He cut an impressive figure, intimidating even, and Bellamy wasn’t looking forward to being faced with his reproval.

As if he had heard him, Kane did a quick sweep of the deck and did a double-take when he noticed him.

Bellamy froze but kept his posture ramrod straight, despite the fact that his knees were on the verge of shaking. This was his first time seeing the man, it was impossible for him to be in trouble!

That, however, didn’t stop Kane from approaching him, his calculating gaze sweeping over Bellamy’s form, once, then twice.

“Officer.” Kane’s voice exuded power. “You wouldn’t happen to be Lady Aurora’s son, would you?”

Blinking owlishly at him, and feeling like a complete fool, Bellamy could only nod. “Yes, sir.”

“I wasn’t aware that she was back in England.”

“We arrived a few months ago, sir. For my draft in the Royal Navy.”

Kane clasped his hands together, his smile wide but lacking any warmth. If anything, the captain looked like he had smelled something unpleasant. “A fine choice, indeed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The sailors around them were already racing up the ropes, readying the ship for sailing.

“I look forward to working with you, Officer. And send my regards to your mother if you will.”

“Of course, sir, thank you, sir.”

That said, Kane left him behind, no doubt already forgetting about their conversation, and Bellamy breathed a sigh of relief, his heart rising from where it had sunk into his heels.

Throughout the two week journey, that was the only time Bellamy actually saw the captain from up close. Bellamy was convinced that it was not a mere coincidence.

Something, that later on, he was immensely glad for.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke stepped on the pier, grateful that the ground beneath her feet stood firm for the first time in weeks. If it depended on her, she wouldn’t be sailing any time soon; she didn’t mind the sea in as much as she just preferred feeling packed soil under her boots.

Raven, her guard of the day, grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her along, the two of them moving with surprising speed despite Raven’s limp and the use of her cane. Clarke suspected a gunshot to the thigh or even a torn tendon somewhere around the knee area that had led to her left leg not being fully operational. Either way, the boatswain hadn’t deigned to satisfy her curiosity on that matter, despite the fact that Raven had caught her looking at her hurt leg several times since Clarke had boarded their ship.

The most Raven had done when faced with Clarke’s not so subtle glances, was to lift her left eyebrow in question, her face set in harsh lines, daring her to go ahead and ask and get bitten in return.

Clarke liked all her body parts intact, thank you very much, so she had refrained from breaching that subject no matter how much the scholar in her itched for some answers.

“Stay close,” Raven said, her fingers like vice around Clarke’s arm. “Keep your head down and your mouth shut or you’ll find out that not everyone on this island is as gracious as our captain.”

“You call taking somebody a prisoner being gracious?”

“We’re pirates, Miss Clarke. You better get used to that, and fast, because it doesn’t seem like you’ll be going anywhere any time soon.”

Clarke contemplated digging her feet into the ground and making a scene, but these people were Raven’s people, _Blake’s_ people, and while there might be somebody who would gladly stab them in the back, Clarke had yet to begin her search for them. In the meantime, giving the rest of them something more than a fleeting impression was not fitting her description of being discreet. The less people knew her, knew _of_ her, the better.

“Where to then?” She met Raven’s suspicion with a shrug. “It’s not like I know where to run, not yet at least.”

To her surprise, Raven laughed at that and her grip relaxed. “To think I would have liked you if things had been different.”

“What is stopping you from liking me now?”

“For starters, that dress of yours.”

Clarke looked down at herself — her dress was unrecognizable, dirty and torn, once a sunny yellow color that now barely passed for a brown. Captain Blake — _Bellamy_ , as Raven had called him — had refused to let her change into one of her other dresses, or in any other clothes for that matter. Something about how he could sell them and that she would end up dirtying the others too; Clarke hadn’t been listening if she had to be completely honest, too busy refraining from slapping his smug smile off his face.

Just thinking about it was enough to bring back her bad mood.

“I admit that it needs some washing but blame your captain, he’s the one that refused to let me have a change of clothes.”

“Oh, he did you a favor all right.”

Clarke stumbled, her mind suddenly thrown in disarray and Raven winced when she had to take all of her weight for a moment.

“You can’t possibly believe that!”

“I do, and if you don’t see it then you’re stupider than I thought you were.”

Clarke couldn’t decided what she was more offended by — the fact that Raven did find her stupid or that Bellamy had acted in her defense. But she didn’t want to aggravate the possibly only semi-friendly face in this godforsaken place so she settled for patting Raven on the hand.

“If you say so.”

“I do, you should listen to me. I’m a genius.”

“You most definitely are,” Monty piped up from behind them, having caught up to them while the two were slowly making their way towards the tavern. “And whatever she tells you,” here he threw his arm around Raven’s shoulders, “is most definitely the truth.”

“Green, with that sweet tongue of yours it’s no wonder Niylah’s girls fall over themselves to have you for the night.”

The sailingmaster smiled cheekily and ran ahead, deftly sidestepping the heavy end of Raven’s cane that had been aimed at his feet.

“Men,” Raven shook her head, “always putting their energy into things that don’t matter.”

Clarke caught herself grinning, agreeing with Raven’s statement, and she tried rather unsuccessfully to scowl her features into something more befitting a person of her situation. Alas, her poor attempt only made Raven roll her eyes.

“A little laughter won’t kill you, you know.”

At that, Clarke smiled and entered the tavern when Raven shooed her in. Blake was sitting in the center, his table full of people Clarke didn’t know, his head thrown back in laughter and Clarke felt sweat trickle down her temple and join the perspiration gathered at the hollow of her neck.

“You know, it just might,” she mumbled in reply.

 

* * *

 

 

“Gina, the cargo is traveling for your shack. You might want to head that way soon lest Harper ends up miscalculating something again.” Raven’s dry tone belied her warm welcome as she hugegd the harbormaster one-handedly, affection noticeable in the subtle way she squeezed her a bit too tightly, their embrace lasting longer than a simple greeting between friends often times did.

Bellamy’s mood soured at once — just for a moment he had forgotten about the sword hanging over their heads, but Clarke’s presence behind his back was more than enough to bring him back to the real world.

Octavia tilted her head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the newcomer and Bellamy closed up, hating how the blonde was making him go on defence without having spoken one word.

Back to business then.

“Was she any trouble?” he addressed Raven, taking notice at the way Clarke bristled at being spoken about as if she was not there. Good, she had looked way too composed for a prisoner.

“The day I can’t handle something you’ve thrown my way is the day that you fail at sailing, Blake, and we all know you can sail blind and deaf if it comes down to it, unwilling to cut ties with your sea.”

“You can make fun of my elusive mistress all you want, Raven, but don’t forget that I’ve heard you talk to your little creations as if they’re alive.”

“Those little creations as you call them have saved your life numerous times.”

“You won’t hear me objecting, but they’re still bizarre.”

“Your face is bizarre if I dare say so myself.”

“I remember you enjoying my face quite thoroughly.”

Raven narrowed her eyes and Bellamy grinned a mouth full of teeth — their past tryst was a sore subject between the two of them ever since it happened. They both hated talking about it yet they both used it to antagonize the other when they were trying to prove a point.

Gina shot him a disapproving look and entwined her fingers with Raven’s, tugging the other woman’s hand away from the death grip she had on her cane. “I believe we’ve heard this conversation enough times to know how it unfolds, so, instead, why don’t you introduce us to your new companion, Bellamy?”

Bellamy’s face resembled a thunderstorm in a bottle, with the glass ready to burst at the gentlest waft of a breeze. “The disheveled lady behind me goes by the name of Clarke.” Nobody on the table seemed impressed by his childish pettiness and he sighed, tuning his head in a circle until he heard his spine crack; the young woman might have brought him unfortunate news and she was quite infuriating, but that still didn’t excuse him for acting like a right bastard to her.

Though right now he wished it did.

“She’ll tell us more about Kane and the current situation in England.”

Clarke stepped forward, her hands deceptively calm by her sides. “I wasn’t informed of that.”

“Now you are.”

“My, you pirates sure are a surly lot.”

Bellamy ruffled his hair and kicked out one of the empty chairs that he had added to their table early on for this specific reason. “Sit down, Clarke, and start talking.”

“Or what?”

Exasperated and annoyed by her constant refusal, Bellamy untied the cord from around his neck and let the little duffle bag fall on the table. The watch ticked softly in the followed silence, and Clarke’s eyes widened as she involuntarily came a step closer.

“You still have it.”

“I can assure you that it’s not out of sentimentality, but as a safeguard for your good behaviour. The moment you do something that I don’t like, talk to people I don’t approve of, the second I suspect that you’re not being truthful with me — then it will be the very last time you lay your eyes on this.” He rapped his knuckles across the back of the watch, the cloth in between softening the otherwise hard knock.

Her cheeks bloomed red with her anger, her eyes lighting up from within and for the time it took him to blink, Bellamy had the feeling that he was staring at the heart of the sea. He had to commend her for her self-control — she did not slap him like he expected her to do, maybe had even looked forward to seeing her _try_.

“I’m no one's property, Captain Blake, you might want to write that down somewhere. Of course, if you can’t write I can always do that for you though I can’t promise that I won’t make a small addition to it about what a wretched man you are.”

Lincoln coughed to cover up his chuckle, jostling Octavia in the process, whose calculating gaze was solely trained on her brother’s face, catching even the miniscule ticks in her brother’s jawline. Well, well, would you look at that. She couldn’t recall the last time her brother had been so riled up over something so trivial. Bellamy had shared how their initial meeting had gone but maybe he hadn’t been fully truthful; or, maybe, he hadn’t been truthful with _himself_.

No matter, they had bigger concerns right now.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he stood up, nearly a head taller than her petite form, “but it’s probably this same attitude that got you chained on that merchant ship, no?”

She lifted an eyebrow at his poor intimidation tactic and sat down in the offered chair, tucking her ankles under the seat with an elegant move meant to peeve him more than anything else.

“What I did to end up in the state you found me is none of your concern. And seeing how you’ve also taken me against my will, I don’t understand how you expect me to agree to help you with whatever it is that you pirates want my knowledge for.”

“For starters,” Octavia drawled out, “we won’t kill you.”

Clarke pushed her braid over her shoulder, adjusting the neckline of her dress. “There are things worse than death.”

That, Bellamy thought, was something they could definitely agree on.

Monty, who had gone for more wine, finally came back with two more jugs and sat them on the table, spilling some much to Gina’s displeasure.

The harbormaster dabbed away at some of the wine that had managed to stain her corset and rose from her chair, pushing Raven to sit in it insistently when the younger woman tried to protest.

“I’ll take that as a sign for me to get back to work. Let me know what this--” here she struggled for words, “ _ragtag squad_ comes to agree upon.” The last she directed to Raven, and with a final wave she made her way out, grinning as her friends vehemently revolted against her comparison.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke observed the group of — dare she say it — _friends_ with a detached sort of feeling, Gina’s comparison ringing softly in her mind; they really were a ragtag bunch; misfits and rejects, criminals, unfit for the social norms their world tried to impose upon them, struggling to make a place for themselves out of a barren piece of land.

She didn’t belong among them, nor their world. And not at all because they were pirates and she was what they considered easy prey.

But her life depended on them, on their _whims_ , and for now, she would follow their lead, hoarding resources and information until she had figured out a way out of this disaster.

Keeping that close to her heart, Clarke folded her hands in her lap and met Blake’s heavy stare. “What is it that you’d like me to tell you exactly?”

Her pulse was galloping through her veins, visible under the thin skin on her neck where her muscles were still recovering from her sick says, the arteries and veins underneath a stark contrast against her still ashy skin.

She didn’t like talking about Kane, but her father’s watch was tempting her from the table and she was too weak to resist its pull.

“Everything.”

“Everything is a broad concept. Kane comes from a long standing aristocrat family in England. He studied at the-”

“Not that.” Bellamy leaned his forearms against the table, face set in harsh lines. “Tell me how he got Earl Griffin’s position. Why him and not Lady Sydney’s husband? Why was Earl Griffin killed in the first place? And what does Kane plan on doing with us, with the Bahamas as a whole?”

“He wants to eradicate you, of course,” she stated coolly, hiding her displeasure at his brisk demand under a blank mask. “You pirates are a disgrace to England’s ideals and inheritance, and most of all, you’re a weakness England still hasn’t been able to overcome. It makes the King look weak and that’s not something the British Empire can afford right now.”

She reached for the wine jug and poured herself a whole glass, sipping just enough to sate the sudden dryness in her throat.

“Kane has been appointed as the Bahama’s Royal Governor by the King himself. His orders are rather simple when you think about it — make sure that the pirates are no longer a threat by any means necessary.”

“And Earl Griffin?”

Bellamy’s sister, Clarke had heard Blake refer to the dark-haired woman that way, tucked a stray lock of hair back into her elaborate hairdo, the dagger on her left hip drawing Clarke’s attention to the myriad of knives she was carrying on her person. One to look out for then, especially if she knew how to use them.

“His passionate defense of those who had decided to become pirates, for one reason or another, and his work on making Nassau and New Providence self-governed British colonies led some people to believe that he had too much of a personal interest in the whole ordeal. He was put to trial and found guilty for treason against the King and His laws.

“He was sentenced to exile but he refused and tried to lodge an appeal, expecting to be supported by those who had lent him a hand in the past.” Her words sounded hollow to her own ears. Her whole energy was put forward to keeping her voice steady, emotionless, the topic too close to her grief for her comfort. The wound in her heart too fresh for her to talk about this unflinchingly. Yet, she managed to keep her eyes dry, the covered watch the only thing she could focus on. “Unfortunately for him, he had lost the King’s favour and his appeal was seen as an insult. He was executed the very same day and soon after Kane was announced as the Bahamas’ Governor, with a substantial number of ships under his command.”

Monty’s usual cheery mood had evaporated the more she had talked, and now, Clarke couldn’t recognize the carefree sailingmaster that had tried to tell her dirty jokes while they were on _The Arion_. “The ships, what type are they? Numbers?”

Clarke shook her head. “That I do not know.” She wasn’t lying but she wasn’t telling the truth either — she had seen most of the ships docked in the harbour when she had made her escape, and she had a good idea which ones were there for Kane.

“Then guess.” She had to give it to Blake, he had an uncanny ability to know when there was more to something than the eye could see.

“Maybe five or six, maybe even ten. My knowledge of ships is non-existent and I can’t make an educated guess as to how many there are in reality.”

Blake cursed, his features set in a frown, his dark unruly curls falling into his eyes and making him seem attractive, in that roguish way authoritative passionate figures could easily achieve. Clarke had always been appreciative of strength of character and Captain Bellamy Blake definitely fit in that category, with his outer appearance as well as with his inner qualities, much to Clarke’s irritation.

She didn’t want to find him attractive, but she did and that peeved her to the point that she was ready to see him ruined only if so that she could get over her unwanted fascination with his person.

“When can we expect them?”

“Earl Griffin died two- no, three weeks ago.” Clarke frowned, unsettled at how fast the time had went. “Commodore Kane most likely left soon after that.”

“Which means that he could be here at any point in the next week.” Octavia tusked and got up, and for the first time Clarke noticed that she wore britches instead of a skirt, just like Raven did. Social norms really did not mean much here. “We’ll need to have a meeting with the other captains. If Kane is coming for us, we need to do something about it.”

“What do you have in mind?” Lincoln craned his neck back to look at her, his calm demeanour the only thing keeping Octavia from going off completely.

“We need to fight back, of course.”

Clarke snorted unlady-like and took another gulp of her wine. “Good luck with that,” she said, oblivious to the intense calculating look Blake was observing her with.

Unbeknownst to her, her role in this pirate war had only just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reviews and kudos are greatly appreciated,**
> 
> **\- M.**

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://ahmren.tumblr.com/)!


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